Inexorable Tidings
by DBack47
Summary: In a steampunk, Victorian era Alagaësia, 400 years following the Rider War, Mereth Archent is given a quest by Angela to find the long lost Rider Eragon Shadeslayer, who disappeared fifty years before. Along her journey, she befriends dragons and meets the powerful Queen of the Elves, finds the legend of the Crimson Rider, and discovers a terrible evil behind Eragon's fate.
1. Prologue

_…Look closely at this bone. You can see how its end rests on that of the sailing ship. That is impossible to misunderstand. Your fate will be to leave this land forever. Where you will end up I know not but you will never again stand in Alagaësia. This is inescapable. It will come to pass even if you try to avoid it…_

**INEXORABLE TIDINGS.**

_Prologue_

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><p>It was as Eragon had said he had once seen in his dreams. It was utterly calm, with a bright moon and the sluggish river, glittering in the pale blue light of a waxing gibbous. The fair elven ship which floated gently against a slow current seemed delicate from afar, like some ornate jewel being carried far down the Edda river towards the unknown horizon. What Eragon had not given any hint to was the storm of emotions that arose within her own heart. Despite the nearly silent night, for even Firnen could be silent when he wished, it was as if a storm was in her ears, years of voices swirling through her head, his voice, both in times of wisdom and in times of foolishness.<p>

**_I see you_**

She sighed wearily.

"_Is that a tear I see Ayra?" _Firnen's rich voice entered her head, although there was a tinge of humor in it.

"Just the wind in my eyes, that's all. Don't mistake me for succumbing to pure sentimentality; after all, I am here and he is aboard that vessel, and that's the way things are right now, so it is mere vanity on my part to feel depressed. And yet, in all my vanity, I can't help but miss him, because he takes with him the end of an age and I don't think we shall again set eyes on such a noble person, however young he is, for a very long time."

_"But he leaves us with many memories, and a land at peace. If that is the purpose of our existence, than Eragon and Saphira have done in but a decade more than many a legend did in a millennium. They shall not be forgotten. Perhaps you are not as vain, or as wise as you might suppose"_

"And what would such a young, foolish drake such as yourself know about wisdom?" Ayra raised an eyebrow, a slight smile emerging on her face. Firnen only raised his head high and let out a puff of smoke.

_"Only forwards shall destiny carry us. And unlike you, I shall keep growing until you seem insignificant. I need no other wisdom other than the legacy that weighs upon my wings"_

"Dragon pride" Ayra thought "Now that is a fate that I am doomed to, however ridiculous it is"

_"And Dragon wisdom, knows no age" _Firnen turned his eyes to meet hers. _"We are losing something here, something which we cannot have back."_

Across the bond she shared with the emerald dragon, she felt the sentiment then shared, suppressed disappointment. For Ayra personally, it was the end of a lifelong journey over a century. Faolin, Islanzadi, Evandar, Oromis, and countless friends had vanished, and Eragon was no different. Good men with a tragic end, slipping away like time itself. But Ayra also was silently somewhat relieved; she now had the centuries ahead to settle down, and forsake her violent youth and first century. Eragon's departure was as much bittersweet as it was relieving, for she was confident that with his departure, the feelings of yearning, of despair, of confusion, and of restlessness would leave.

And yet as she heard the cry of Roran, down near the shore, the soft keen of Firnen, and that silent voice that had somehow developed in the back of her mind, passionate and angry that she was losing Eragon, there was nothing but emptiness in her heart. She felt more alone than she had in a long time, despite the modest crown which was carefully woven into some temporary hair braids upon her head reminding her that she had the mighty race of the elves to be held responsible to. She felt more unsure, less certain about her next steps she had to take than she should have been. It wasn't like her to feel these strong emotions of regret and disappointment. Before the last years, she would have never have even harbored the slightest of thoughts. Now she seemed to be wallowing in them.

"I blame this on you" Ayra mumbled mentally, but very quietly.

_"What was that?" _Firnen's eyes opened a bit further. _"Blame what? If you want to blame my feelings of loss for Saphira on your feelings of loss for Eragon, than you're ignoring your own heart. You were attached to him. It's as clear as the moon is tonight" _

"Did I love him?"

Firnen was surprised, leaning down to look Ayra in the eyes as closely as she was comfortable with. He was such a youthful dragon, his head being but the size of a small chest, belying his deep thoughts, giving him more of a boyish appearance.

_"What have you done to my Ayra? She would never ask such a ambivalent question."_

"I am not the same as I was even a few months ago" Ayra's eyebrows furrowed. "There's too much room for doubt nowadays, too many choices of grey. Before there was Galbatorix and all the evil that he never deviated from, with almost perfect uniformity, and now there is the ruins of his realm, where those that participated in his atrocities and those that were but bystanders are almost indistinguishable. So many elder elves now dead, and so many of the young dwarves, men and urgals in power. I was raised on duty, commitment and obedience to the directions of those above me, even Faolin was a part of the way things were established to be as, and now...it's finished. I am the master of my destiny and I don't know what to do with it, nor whether I have done, or am doing the right thing"

_"It cannot be healthy for your state of mind" _

"But introspection was never something I was very good at, and yet it's inevitable as any emotion; pride, love, and sorrow...no I will get over this. And I can say that I _did not _love Eragon, despite his attempts at convincing me otherwise, right up to the last second"

_"Then what was he?"_

"A friend. Perhaps not my best friend, but my only friend that knew me well, and now that he has departed I am alone in confidence. But if that is to be the way things are, I shouldn't delay my resignation to that fact"

_"Very talkative tonight aren't we?"_

"Yes, and very...cold"

Ayra turned to the side came to sit against Firnen's belly, sitting there a few minutes before slowly beginning to sing.

"World silent and elves asleep"

"In the darkness do the mysterious beings meet"

"they say their greetings, and give way to dream"

"in the darkness, not evil, yet only things unseen"

"darkness of our hearts is where our vulnerabilities dwell"

"darkness of our hearts, where our pride is dispelled"

It was at that moment that both Ayra and Firnen became aware of soft, yet quick footsteps towards them, nearly a half a mile away. Straining her eyes, for even elvish eyes have limits, Ayra made our a dark cloak and dirty leather soles, but exotically braided hair and a smirking face. Something was held within her arms.

Ayra frowned. What was she doing here?

Several minutes later, Angela emerged from the dark.

"I'm sorry to intrude upon your 'let's leave without looking back' feelings and sentiments, but I have a word to say to the Princess". Angela smiled, but a kind smile. There was however, something sad in her expression.

_"Shall the odd one be shooed?" _Firnen didn't shield his thoughts.

"Hush now dragon, I shall leave you alone when I am done, and waste no more of your precious time of which you seem to never have for the important things. And anyhow, if you two are going to be so melancholy, I would suggest finding a barrel of mead to share"

"Leave us to our thoughts Angela, for we are merely reflecting upon the end of many things and how to continue on afterwards"

"So honest? Seems unlike you Ayra, perhaps that tough exterior was taken by Eragon now, hmmm?"

Ayra didn't bother responding.

_"If you have come to merely confuse us, or irritate us, than I might start searching for a pony-dinner. Your pony" _Firnen gruffly stated.

"But then you would be stuck with me" Angela laughed.

_"You would suffer the elves. No human can stand it for too long" _Firnen answered gravely.

"Arrogant dragon, and elves alike" Angela chided "I would conjure up a new pony, and a lean one with many bones in it. But enough meaningless banter, for I have come bearing a gift Ayra, one that may aid you in the path forward"

Ayra was still silent, her usually bright eyes dulled and aimless, her hair carelessly splayed across Firnen's scales and her arms dangling limp by her sides. Angela waited patiently.

"What?" Ayra asked at length. "It better not be a destined sword of any sort."

Angela threw back her head and laughed heartily. "You do have some wit Ayra, yes I think you shall be an excellent queen for the elves indeed. So here is my gift to you"

From her robe, Angela produced a cloth bound, square item with some strings holding down the covers. Ayra raised an eyebrow, before receiving the object into her small hands.

"A book?..." She undid the covers, wafting a slight sent of fresh leather bindings, fresh ink and a bit of cheap plaster mixed with an old wood, a smell she had smelled not long ago. "It's from Uru'baen. Handwritten, judging by my memory of your handwriting."

She turned to the first page. "A recounting of Eragon and the years of the War?...Scarcely a quarter of the book has writing, the rest of the pages are blank"

"This is not the end Ayra, but merely the end of the beginning. Time is not your friend nor your enemy, but don't expect time to wait for you or the elves. I have seen it before, many a time, and I do believe we shall see it again. Don't speak now, but merely consider that at present, there are many things yet asleep in Alagaësia that you would do well to watch for, and old friends that you may realize were more important to you than you ever thought." Angela said.

"That hardly seems encouraging"

Angela shrugged. "I needed to say it. I'm always at the center of significant events, and sometimes I'm near to those near to the center of significant events, and you..." Angela stepped closer and wagged her finger. "Are both a significant event and close to the center of significant events. I'll be on the look out for you, now that Eragon is gone, but unlike him, there's something tragic about you, something dark. Fascinating really."

"I, dark?" Ayra gave a snort of derision "you are getting delusional. I am destined to be queen of the most stable, non-meddlesome, dull, and sedentary races in Alagaësia. I don't think I have even the choice to be dark, whatever that might mean...Angela?"

But Angela had vanished. Ayra and Firnen stared at the twin footprints where Angela had been standing a scarce moment before, bewildered. A moment later, they realized that she had wandered back into the cover of darkness, her swaying figure beginning to aready dwindle as she quickly walked away.

"We didn't detect her departure. How did she get here anyway.?"

Firnen craned his neck and began to get up, stretching his back in a feline fashion. _"I suspect that she's been watching the procession of events for a while now. No, I don't think that Angela acted without careful premeditation. She's been following us ever since Hedarth I suspect."_

Ayra turned to the last written page in the plain book that she had been given, noting the last lines.

**In time, however, Eragon's heart slowed, and his tears dried, and a measure of peace stole over him as**

**he gazed out at the empty plain. He wondered what strange things they might encounter within its wild**

**reaches, and he pondered the life he and Saphira were to have—a life with the dragons and Riders.**

**We are not alone, little one, said Saphira.**

**A smile crept across his face.**

**And the ship sailed onward, gliding serenely down the moonlit river toward the dark lands beyond.**

_**Written in the year 8001 AC. **_

"She's been watching very closely indeed." Ayra's eyes narrowed. "Let's not stay here any longer"

Angela watched Ayra and Firnen take flight, slowly beginning to fly back to the small camp that the Elves had established a few miles away near the river's edge. She too smiled and finished the walk back to the sleepy pony that was swaying under the weight of a saddle and several bags of her items a little less than a mile to the west. Solembum lifted his head and yawned, his sharp teeth showing.

_"About time you decided to get back to being lazy again. I'm tired of adventure"_

"Well rest easy lazy bones. But the sun never ceases to rise and night never fails to fall. Nothing ever stays the same for too long."

_"Why did I ever decide that you were the best companion to be with for the rest of my life?"_

Angela let out a hearty laugh and mounted the saddle. "You and I have a shared interest, that's why. We're spectators to the insanity of this world and the next. Hwatum il skilfz gerdumn! Let us be off!"


	2. Many Years Later

_Dust to dust..._

**INEXORABLE TIDINGS**

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><p><em>Part 1: Many Years Later<em>

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><p><strong>THE ILIREA TRIBUNE<strong>

_Weather: Today: unseasonably cold, 21 Orrins. Cloudy. Tomorrow: warmer, rain expected_

_1 Cent_

**Ilirea, Nuansday, Sevtoven 34th, 8421 AC**

**ALAGAESIA**** ILL AT EASE**

**"The continued diffusion of knowledge and wealth, the perpetuated continuance of diplomacy, and ever upwards progress of mankind and all races within this land is but the reasons why I make this, along with all representatives present, our mantra. Peace in our age, now and forever". That quote, spoken by the esteemed Carvahall diplomat Risords at the 272nd international conference of the ****Alagaësia ****Round Table Discussions this past weekend in Gil'ead seems to assure the leaders that were present or represented of the eight great nations of this continent that indeed, peace is assured as it has been for the last four centuries. The summer of 8421 has seemed to be evidence for that, the fabulous CXXXIV Andelvic Games hosted at Feinster seeing the first human gold medalist in wrestling and a historic first; the first Urgal medalist in the 1000 length swimming contest. Record highs were posted at the Farthen Dur stock exchange in the 3rd quarter, and the laboratories of Belatona have made several advances in electrical induction with further pledges for Sponsorships pledged by all human nations for the continued research on solenoids.**

**Beyond the glamorous headlines, the notion that it is peace in our times is the furthest from the truth. ****Alagaësia****is nothing more than a trembling house of cards on the verge of collapse. The order of nations, evolved and cobbled together in the aftermath of the devastating Rider War and the tyranny of the evil Rider King Galbatorix, has persisted for 4 centuries, but long standing, subterranean faults threaten to plunge us all into the abyss of modern, mechanized warfare.**

**The heart of the conflict is economic. No other period of recorded history has seen quite the technological advance of the last hundred years, initiated when Dwarven inventor Hidrillik unveiled the first steam engine within Further Dur to the King Orik within the last days of the king's life. From there-on out it was nothing but unbridled growth with a score of astonishing discoveries made across the continent. The discovery of vaccination in Surda in 8332, the pasteurization of milk in 8298, the first railroad in 8372 between Dras-Leona and Ilirea, the commercialized manufacture of steel discovered in the dwarven city of Dalgon in 8369. Perhaps without the industrial revolution, the current order of nations would be manageable, and the Dragon Riders, the Elves and the Du Vrangr Gata would have been able to maintain, through use of magic, the peace. With a continental population of tens of millions, high economic competition between the human kingdoms, the inherent civil strife of the dwarves, and the stagnation of the elves, magic alone seems unable to control the forces that are tearing Alagaesia apart at the seams.**

**Of particular worry is the forthcoming death of the Surdan King Neron and the power vacuum that will result in the wake of his departure. The bid for the throne will naturally entail promises of military action against Ilirea, and most likely the Confederate Oceanic States of Teirm and its holdings, as Neron had constantly threatened throughout his varied rule. The incessant posturing between young Queen Vicensa and aged Neron will not likely end with a new Surdan monarch, although that is not the only risk at hand. The Dwarven clans have never been more fractious, despite the terrible Dwarven civil war just 50 years past, and a war anew between the dwarves may turn a powder keg of alliances between the dwarves, Ilirea and Surda into a full-fledged international inferno.**

**Only the ancient Dragon Riders, ever aloof and mostly concerned with the affairs of the technologically isolated elves and their charismatic queen, keep the forces of chaos at bay. The powers of magic still defy the laws of physics that bind the human, dwarven scientists, are without doubt, still the most powerful force in the land, but the sheer strength of the military armies raised by the respective human nations as well as the technological prowess of the dwarves has made ****Alagaësia ****restless and difficult to handle. All eyes turn towards the 17th Lanothrain Council, where decrees and policy changes of Thrain StrongHammer, Chief Rider of the Order, will be the deciding factor between the next century of peace, or the next decade of war.**

**All of ****Alagaësia ****waits with tense hearts and hands on their swords, a land ill at ease.**

_Columnist Carthor Reutors_

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><p><em>Clang clang, clang clang<em>

The trolley's bell rang above her head as Mereth folded the paper down onto her lap and tugged at her black robe, fighting the urge to bite at her fingers. She preferred the unhappy news out of the newspapers to the nervousness that she felt stirring in her heart; today was the exam after all. She just needed to...calm down. It was hard to put herself in that frame of mind, considering that it was her last exam before she graduated, and her most dangerous. Students had perished after exerting themselves too hard. It was uncommon, but it was a risk all the same. She returned to studying her textbook.

"Nervous are we?" a small voice asked amid the hubbub of the crowded trolley interior. Mereth looked around. Businessmen with top hats stood shoulder to shoulder with tired, sour faced workmen in bowler hats. A few elegant ladies with bonnets and billowing dresses were near the ends of the trolley, talking to each other. It couldn't of have been them, none of them were paying any attention to her at all. She wished that it had been the rich baritone of the young gentlemen just a few seats away, casually leaning against a pole and reading a novel. Glancing back at the window, she sighed as she took note of her appearance; short, an out sized nose, short black hair that refused to straighten, and dark eyes.

"I said, nervous are we?"

She finally looked to her side and noticed an old woman, knitting next to her, wrapped heavily in a shawl. A sleepy grey cat was curled up beside her, light blue feline eyes looking back at her with detached interest.

"Yes, I'm about to graduate"

"Oh, graduate? What does that mean?"

"Well..." Mereth paused "I'm taking a test, called the ilumëo du wyrda."

"What is that?"

"None of your concern, only my own" Mereth said with a sigh. It usually warded off such noisy questions. She turned and glanced out the smudged trolley windows. Ilriea spread itself as the swaying trolley rattled across the elevated rails towards downtown, factories and chapels, tenement buildings and slums stretching for miles on end across the urban expanse. Busy cobbled streets passed below, filled with street vendors and carriages hauled by tired looking horses trying to make their way through the crowds of early morning pedestrians.

They turned the bend, wheels of the trolley singing as she set eyes upon the old city; the ancient crumbling stone ramparts and towers of classic Ilriea, with the Imperial Castle in the center of the old fortress, surrounded by the 4 elven spires that had been built when the city was young. Flags of the Brodding Kinging hung limply upon the soot covered walls, obscured from view by a dense haze of smog that had settled upon the city casting everything in a sickly shade of sulfer yellow.

"Must have been splendid to see the Old City of Ilriea in its prime" Mereth muttered to herself. "Now nothing but smoke and factories to behold."

"And it was splendid"

Mereth turned warily. The old woman was now looking directly at her, eyes shining. "Can you imagine what I beheld a century ago? Before the train and before the gear. The walls were white washed and dragons would sit upon the walls, standing guard against all that dared to challenge the Crown. But of the young, that's lost to them." she spoke with an strange accent.

"Not to all" Mereth said, her eyes glancing back to the Old City. Behind the Old City was the massive stone outcropping of rock upon which she could see the Dragon Hold atop; a huge circular citadel. She smiled as she heard a familiar _thud-thud _sound, far off at first, but increasing in volume quickly. "I bet there are some young dragon riders that behold Ilriea as something beautiful yet"

_thud-thud-thud-Thud-Thud-_Thud-Thud-**Thud**

Twelve dragons thundered over the city, Mereth craning her neck to glimpse them. There was something magical just about their appearance, vivid hues of flaming red, amber gold, forest green, rich violet and burgundy scales glittering in the clear air far above the city below. The entire train vibrated as the sound of their wings echoed for miles around. Even behind the glass, a shiver went up Mereth's spine as a deep-throated roar broke out, with 12 lesser roars calling in response.

"They're heading home. Morning patrol is over" She watched in fascination as the dragons formed a long line that seemed to gently float down into the massive portal atop the Dragon Hold. "What I wouldn't give to be one."

"But you are in the school of sorcery yes? The Illriea Hugin Abr Vanyali Breoal? I've never heard of a woman taking the ilumëo du wyrda, you must be more than meets the eye"

Mereth glared at the woman, alarmed. How did she know? Who was she? There was something about her, her young fingers that were so nimble and quick that they blurred as they quickly knitted the intricate cloth that she was producing, her accent, the way she pronounced the Ancient Language perfectly. Quick as she could, Mereth attempted to snatch the shawl from atop the woman's head, but a hand shot up and grabbed her wrist with a painful strength that old women shouldn't have. The cat was now alert, tail twisting and eyes intent.

"Watch your manners young lady" the old woman chided with a dangerous smile. "I wouldn't want to cause a scene"

Mereth blinked, too surprised to respond. It was just then that the brakes squealed and the trolley came to a halt, the doors opening with a bang and the mass of people within the car began to shift towards the exit, even as the crowd waiting on the station platform squeezed in.

Seconds later, the woman was gone, cat, knitting and all.

"My word" Mereth murmured, rubbing her wrist where the lady's hand had been a few seconds ago.

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><p>She disembarked at the Jörmundur station, entering a throng of students heading towards the school. Most lived close, having come from far and wide, all across the Brodding Kingdom by invitation to study the Ancient Language at one of Alagaësia's most prestigious schools of magic. Urgals, a few dwarves, dark skinned humans from the distant south, denizens of Carvahall, Dras-Leona, Fornost, and Yazoac all crowded through the hallowed gates of the courtyard.<p>

She was one of the rare females there. She had, for the most part, gotten used to the usual feeling of lonesomeness when she walked up the steps leading to the main hall, but it reminded her just how unusual her fate had been. Unlicensed Magic was outlawed in the land, and the Du Gata Vrangr in conjunction with the Dragon Riders kept a keen eye out for any potential magicians or witches throughout all of Alagaesia. It was compulsory then, to attend school, although it wasn't a bad thing. Magicians, even in an age of industry,were among the highest esteemed professionals in society. Most were healers, but some were specialists, serving in enterprise and government. Others became independent magicians for hire, doing odd jobs here and there, some becoming fabulously wealthy.

But there were a few that exceeded the rest. They went on to apprentice among the leading magicians in the land, and a select few, among the Dragon Riders themselves. After that, they were not mere magicians and witches but sorcerers and sorceresses and they became as prestigious and important as any baron or prince, serving in high positions of power or for many, as reclusive hermits that were sought after for their advice and spells. The school she attended, the _Illriea Hugin Abr Vanyali Breoal _was a school for students that showed enough promise to possibly be among those powerful magicians.

She was not necessary all that powerful, but her talent with the Ancient Language had allowed the Du Gata Vrangr to present her with a choice. Head to Gil'lead, not far from home, to join the Trianna Heil aiBreoal school of healing, or head to Illriea to continue a intensive study of the Ancient Language.

And for the life of her, she could still not explain why she had picked the latter of the twin choices. She had been but only fourteen when she had made her decision, but 6 years down the path, she wondered why she hadn't chosen otherwise.

A tall Hall monitor, with tousled blond hair and blue eyes winked at her as she passed by.

Well...there were some benefits. Perhaps she had gone here to escape the catty environment of female witches. Perhaps it had been her young notions of romance in a world where by her humble birth and her unremarkable appearance, she had never been able to attract more keen interest from gentlemen. Or even perhaps it was her interest in stories of the old days and the Rider War, and lack of interest in singing or dancing or abiding by the societal rules of being a proper lady that had driven her away. She was however, talented at the Ancient Language, and she enjoyed the studious hours of memorizing complex spells, sometimes entire books of them, and unlike the school of healing, where there was emphasis on mental association with a patient to correctly diagnose the problem something with which Mereth was terrible at, she was able to excel here.

All and all, she was glad she had come, despite all her reservations about being one of the few females there.

Mereth turned the corner and entered the long passage down the testing chamber. _Not long now. _Mereth thought to herself, _all those years of study...wait, the old woman!?_

On a bench, the old woman sat, knitting. The cat stared at her with an uncannily intelligent look on its face, as though studying her. Shuddering, Mereth kept walking. She had a test to take.

The students filed into the test room and took their seats. Enspiron Findol took the proctor's podium.

"We shall begin the exam shortly".

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><p><strong>http<strong>**:/**

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_**Morning Commute. Drawing of Mereth. **_

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	3. A Long Time Ago, in a land far far away

_With Many a debt to pay to GaBeRock for editing._

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><p><strong>INEXORABLE TIDINGS<strong>

_Part II: Long long ago...in a land far far away_

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><p>An hour into the test and Enspiron Findol was growing tired. The room was hot, the sound of quill pens monotonous, and the seat where he sat was uncomfortable, with nothing but a copy of <em>Glorfindis's study of the evolution of the Ancient Language from 7432 to 7800 AC<em> to keep him company.

_I grow older, year by year,_

_As I watch the procession of youth continuously pass through these halls of knowledge._ _I am not an elf, nor a dragon rider, so wishing for immortality is narcissism, but there were better times of my life when I was young and the world seemed less twisted against me._

His eyes moved away from the old text and wandered up towards the fan-vault stone arches that swept across the ceiling as a fascinating web of meticulously crafted stonework. Stained glass windows were nestled in between the columns, depicting ancient legends of old. A single stone dragon spread its wings above the classroom doorway, its miniature jaws opened in a everlasting roar. A clock was embedded in its chest, ticking quietly as the morning slipped away.

_Dwarven work. This room could tell stories._ _It was enchanted to bar dishonesty, and never darkens until the sun leaves this side of creation. But perhaps the real reason why the ilumëo du wyrda is proctored here is the atmosphere. Beneath a dragon and the heroes of old do the future sorcerers of Alagaesia test their skill against the standards of the Du Gata Vrangr._

He glanced down at the students taking the exam.

_The youth of Alageasia, impressible and passionate for the future. Standing in such contrast to the old generation, like myself and my colleagues._

Findol himself felt rather young, strangely enough, in comparison to the eight other Enspirons proctoring the exam. Two of them were nearly asleep, on either side of him, holding quill pens to long lines of spells they were composing. Three of them were idling away their time, although Findol remembered them a half a century ago as younger and fiery Enspirons that had no issue with punishing students nearly to death if they felt so compelled. They were now going senile and dull-eyed, although their decades of spell knowledge kept them in their positions. There were two others like himself; older-middle aged, balding with hair turning grey, watery eyes and weathered faces, but still clear of mind and great in magical abilities.

There was a quiver in the room's air as the first student began to cast the spell to finish his exam, Findol looked up as the other Ensprions slowly began to refocus their attention back on the students. It was them who would have to act to prevent the students from killing themselves while executing their spells, and close scrutiny of the student's facial expressions was necessary.

There were a few dwarves near the front rows, their hair unkempt and eyes surrounded by dark rings.

_Dwarves never took to intellectual studies with the exception of the sciences and engineering, to which they have no equal. However, by sheer will alone and the perseverance of the dwarves have these three come so far. I hope they succeed._

Next to them, oddly enough, sat the only Urgal in the room, a huge person that seemed unfit to be squeezed into a desk so small, and with his long horns, yellowish eyes and arms as thick as fence posts, very much out of place. It didn't matter, in a room of nearly fifty students, he was the one furthest along in his test, and the only one that had forwent the typical school robes for a attire of a tailored suit and polished shoes. He was currently casting his spell, the examination paper glowing intensely as the magic flowed through his whispered words.

_It stands to show that the brilliance of Alagaesia knows no race nor color. Kurkuk is one of my best students, although he's very quiet. The most sophisticated as well. I hear that he's here on a stipend from the monarchy itself as a sign of goodwill to the Urgals. Couldn't have picked a finer student either to send, I'll be sorry to see him go. Very earthy method of spell casting, but he's succeeded in ways that most higher level magic casters take years to discover._

There was no ignoring the fact that the room was dominated by humans, and mostly from the Broddring Empire. There were a few Surdans near the back corner, standing out from the rest for their dirty robes and disheveled appearance. Rejects from the Aberon hugin Abr Vanyali Breoal, they were here solely due to the wealth of their parents and their behavior reflected that. One of them was completely stuck, chewing on his fingernails, another red faced, focusing on material that confounded him so completely that Findol wondered whether he should fail the student on the spot to prevent him from endangering himself.

In front of the Surdans were the Southerners, the Anjdernors. There were several of them, dark skinned with curly hair, tall and muscular. Of them, Findol had a high regard, for many Anjdernors were noble (after all, the lineage of the current crown of the Brodding Empire, the heirs of Queen Nasuada, were Anjdernorians) and despite their odd appearance and strange accents, their sometimes bombastic culture and brute customs, were faultlessly amiable to all that meant them well, and they could be wise even at a young age.

_Such a young nation, beset by the troubles of the southern continent by drought and sandstorm. They are unwavering allies of the Brodding Empire, not the least of which because one of their own sits upon the throne, and has since the Rider War. They are not the best magicians, and in fact, quite mediocre at times, but in times of trouble, there are none other so loyal and fiercely determined to do what is right. If only such virtues were prevalent for all of my Broddring students. I have too many of them, rows and rows of them._

Of the fifty students, there were thirty eight from the Broddring Empire, and they hearkened from every city and town. Daret, Marna, Bullridge, Dras-Leona, Ilriea, even Ceunon were represented. Of them, some were dark skinned and dark haired like the Anjdernorians, while others were blond haired and blue eyed and had a elvish look to them, and then there were some from the west, short and stocky like dwarves. It reflected the multitude of ethnicity and cultures encompassed under the Broddring crown, to which they all had their loyalties.

_No one from the COST*, nor any from the Kingdom of Carvahall. But one from Gil'lead, of my flesh and blood._

The sound of a cricket made the students give a quick glance upwards, confused as to the source of the abrupt noise.

Findol frowned but did nothing. The students returned to their examinations, even though the chirping grew louder.

_The Room is guarded against stray noises such as that. I wonder..._"I will return in a moment"

Enspiron Rimsfold looked at him expectantly, extending his mind towards Findol's.

_"You will be brief?" _Rimsfold asked mentally. The cricket continued to sing.

_"Just out in the hall for a moment. Keep an eye out. Cheating on the __ilumëo du wyrda comes with the penalty of death, but I wouldn't put it past the ambitious and clever to attempt"_

Findol gradually got off his seat at the podium and surveyed the classroom. He muttered a quick spell and closed his eyes, before encountering a new presence in the room, a mind vast but entirely intangible and indecipherable. It was however, familiar. Findol opened his eyes and furrowed his creased brow.

_What in the name of Angvard would she be doing here?_

Careful to be as quiet as possible, Findol stepped towards the door, unlatching the bolt and stepping out into the hall. He didn't have to search for long, recognizing the old woman sitting on the bench not far down the hall instantly. They watched each other for a few seconds, as though sizing each other up. Findol saw a hunched over woman under a shawl, with gnarled hands, leaning on a cane, with a basket of knitting items on her left and a large grey cat on her right.

The woman saw a tall, older man in black robes with a slowly receding head of dark hair with silver running through the margins. Dark blue eyes gazed at her intently over a large noise and a bushy but well kept beard that extended almost down to his collar.

"My word you have gotten fat" the woman said. Her voice was clear for an old woman's, being somewhat low pitched with a bit of rawness that Findol knew well.

Findol grunted, clearing his throat. "Thank you for the advice. I'll stick to my carriage thank you very much. No flying machines or eagles for me today, if that is what you are here for. You are the one looking old after all, just a meddlesome old hag come to disrupt the most important examination of my student's lives, so stop the crickets please" His gravely voice seemed to dampen the woman's spirits for a second, before she perked up.

"Oh pooh, if life could be determined by pieces of paper and a pen than the world would be a very strange place indeed, and I its ruler, if you can imagine. The cricket is there just to prevent them from getting bored."

Findol spoke gruffly. "They are far from bored. The way you stagger about, intruding upon other people's business is unbecoming of any person's manners. How did you get in here?"

"How did you get in here?" she retorted as she stood, standing straight and stretching before slowly beginning to walk towards Findol.

"I work here. You stole in. Probably turned one of the guards into a mouse on the way"

"You know me too well Findol, it's really been too long" she said with a glittering smile as she took off the shawl and waved a hand. Folds in her skin vanished, her eyes grew more bright and her old appearance faded.

"I would argue the opposite. Stop the crickets"

"Fine, May I come in?" she motioned at the door.

"And lose your head? There are seven senior Du Gata Vangr members in there who each, personally, who would like nothing better than to see your picture in the newspaper, in the gallows, for the troubles you have caused"

"I am certain they would." Angela shrugged "But then again, I never worried too much about the Du Gata Vrangr, bunch of sniveling idiots that they are..."

Findol glared.

"With a few exceptions. Although I've told you many a time that this is not the life that you are fit to live"

"Well, if I could still wield a sword, or a rifle, I would gladly follow you to the brink of death as I always did, somehow. But _someone _rendered me helpless and alone against a Shrrg and I unfortunately I somehow lost an arm."

"And _someone _fixed it" she grabbed his wooden hand and shook it, the gears clicking. "Fine dwarven work indeed"

"Bah!"

"You've missed me" Angela smiled. "And I've missed having a errand boy as flippant and reckless as you"

"If I've missed anything, it's being away from your cauldron, and your pets, and your pranks"

"Oh? Is that so? The last time I saw you, you were practically swimming in my stew"

"It grabbed me by the neck!" Findol laughed.

"Yes, well, what did I always say about naughty boys leaning over the colorful fumes?"

"Kvetha Elda osthato abr orothrim. Welcome to Ilriea" Findol smiled. "It's good to see you"

"Kvetha orothrim Vodhr fricai Findol. How are you?"

"Fine I suppose. Life here at the Illriea Hugin Abr Vanyali Breoal continues in very much the same way as it has since I became part of this place, steady and insular. It's not the life I used to lead, but one I am content with"

Angela frowned "Really, content?"

Findol nodded, not seeming to notice Angela's disapproval "For my daughter. And of course, spell-weaving. There are several significant ones we have composed over the years, and will continue to weave, for the benefit of the Empire, and Alagaesia as a whole. But I am curious, are you still unlicensed?"

"Ha! I'll have a license from the Du Gata Vrangr for my tombstone, they can't tell me what to do." she spoke distastefully, examining her long fingernails. "You know what I think of them"

"And you'll also have a warrant for your arrest at your funeral if that's the case. I could do it for you, very simply, to get you compliance with the Trinidad Laws."

"Child, you assume to much. If the Guardians knew of my adventurers I don't think many courts in this nation would be able to give an appropriate sentence."

"Oh-ho, what adventures?" Findol grinned.

_"We have come not to merely banter Findol"_

Findol stood as straight as he could and bowed low to the grey cat that slunk from the shadows. "Hello Soliscum. It is an honor once again"

_"The silver tongued imp of Dras-Leona has not forgotten his manners Angela. I am pleased" _the cat sat, green eyes staring up at Findol. _"But we haven't come for you"_

"You know why we are here Findol. Time is not on our side"

Findol thought for a moment, glancing down at his wooden hand, flexing the fingers too and fro, as a shadow passed over his face. "And what are we to do about it? Panic? Build a sacrificial pyre? Listen to your advice? All seem terrible options"

"And yet you will listen to my advice right now, not for you, but for Mereth"

"Absolutely not" Findol grew grave. "Angela, Mereth is not to be touched."

"Mereth is of age"

"No" Findol spoke coldly. "my daughter is to be kept, unharmed and out of harm's way. Eka Ren wyrda."

Angela was quiet for a moment before she looked down the hallway either way. The passage was darkened, a heavy stone corridor with ribbed vaults illuminated by inextinguishable dwarven lamps and the light of small windows set in betwixt the columns. It would do. She turned about and slowly walked back to her bench.

Findol, alarmed, put his good hand under his robe, fingering the holster where it sat on his belt. "Angela, there are some barriers which are not to trespassed and they are to be defended with the soul and life that I possesses. Don't you even consider employing her to do your bidding because she is to me what fate is to you; precious beyond value."

"Foolish lad. You are wrong"

"Not here Angela"

"Of course not. Where else?" She sat on the bench and placed her hand in her knitting basket.

"Don't" Findol stepped forward.

Angela turned her head and stared at Findol, appearing confused, before she let out a sharp laugh. "Findol? Are you...I suppose I wouldn't understand. Relax..." she waved her roll of thread and knitting pins. "I mean you no harm"

Findol blinked, and then sheepishly stood at ease, stroking his beard. "I'm sorry then. I trust you, but not enough to know that when you want something, you usually don't wait to get it."

"And I will wait, this time. But Findol, she has such potential, and she might do some good. Now let me guess, when she matriculates, I suppose you will steal her away back to Gil'ead, back to your brother's family to weave spells for their haberdashery?"

"While she is apprenticed, to me, yes"

"And later, you will compel her to seek marriage when you return here? And enter her into the spinning of clothes, for the frivolous and stupid of the empire to seek out? Such a_noble _destiny you have planned for the best spell caster of her generation. Such a _honorable intent _for Findol Archent, the greatest of dragon ambassadors. And above all, how_selfish _of you."

Findol grew red faced and lifted a finger to speak a retort, before he deflated and gave a mighty sigh, knowing that Angela was correct. "Angela, you are cruel"

"And you the fool"

"Someone else, I plead"

"Who, a Rider? Too reckless and gullible. An elf? They are the problem right now anyway. Some colonel from the military? Too weak in mind and spirit. A dwarf? All they see is the gleam of gold" Angela began to knit, sending Findol condemning glares.

"Why her?"

"I see her heart, it yearns to soar, to be free and see wondrous things. And she's made of tougher stuff than you will ever know. I've seen it."

"Wait, you met her?" Findol grew angry again. The shadows seemed to grow.

"In disguise of course, but yes, just this morning."

Findol didn't say a word for a few minutes, but his face hardened.

"No."

"Oh, is that a question?" Angela didn't bother looking up.

"Not at all. She's mine Angela, mine you understand? She's my legacy, my pride and my strength, and for you to come here, into this school, without a consideration as to me, seems the foolish thing. What do you expect, since you know me so well. No. And that's final. Angela, I respect you, but perhaps its time you learned that..."

"Learned what? The rigidness of a lost warrior? You have been in books and classrooms for too long Findol, for I remember a fiery man that didn't shy from the darkness, didn't step down from the ramparts, and never let the naysayers deny him. I remember someone who was a great man, the greatest of them all. And here you are, lost in titles. Your time is not over Findol, and I don't care if you're sixty years of age or twenty, but the time is at hand for you to _act_."

"For the sake of the elves? For you? I lost my arm, and nearly my life for those causes."

"And what about the war?"

"What about it?" Findol growled. "You're too assuming. You know nothing of who I am if you assume that I will let her go to a person like you"

"Findol..." Angela looked up at the ceiling and stopped her knitting. There was a distant train whistle outside. The sun darkening as a cloud passed in front of it. The cat slowly walked to Angela and leapt upon the bench next to her, purring softly.

Findol shifted his posture, growing impatient.

"I've seen things you wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shores of Beirland. I watched dying dragons glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate. All those moments will be lost in time, to the machinations of forces you cannot fathom. Mereth, and you, stand at the center of these events, whether you like it or not. Do not try and deny fate."

She got up, and slowly approached, taking the object she had knitted and giving it to Findol.

"Here"

Findol looked down, not comprehending. "what?"

"For Mereth. A headscarf for next week"

"Next week?"

"When she graduates from this school"

Findol, reached down and took the cloth, running his hand through the finely sewn fabric that itself was iridescent and reflected the light as he passed it back and forth. The crest of the school was perfectly inscribed upon the back, with additional patterns being woven into the edges. It was a handsome gift.

"Thank you Angela. I'm sorry for my words." Findol said with a hint of guiltiness in his words.

But Angela didn't say anything, merely turning and walking silently down the corridor. Findol stood still for a moment, before hiding the cloth and returning to the testing room.

He was astonished at what he saw.

* * *

><p>The test had been written many years ago, by Findol with the help of several other senior sorcerers of the Du Gata Vrangr. It was composed of a single test sheet with a complex pattern of lines and shaded colors, words of the Ancient Language written between them, and the first several pages of the exam being filled with riddles and reference as to the composition of the back page. To decipher and weave a spell from it was complex and difficult, requiring years of rote memorization and a fundamental understanding of the Ancient Language itself.<p>

Only a third of every class-year ever passed the test. Many of the students in the room had given up, staring blankly into space. There were some that had managed to continue, but their spells struggled to find purchase against the exam, and as the magic took shape, it fluttered and rippled unnaturally, ashes falling back to the desk.

One student fainted audibly, his spell being dissipated in a flash of flame and his head hitting the back of the desk with a painful sounding smack. Mereth attempted to stay focused.

_So close now._

A few students were finishing, she could see in the peripherals of her vision. The urgal in the front row, the dwarves, astonishingly enough, and the Anjdernors seemed to be nearing completion.

_Just a bit more. _She thought as she meticulously went line by line, checking the long and complex spell that she had messily written down on the pages provided.

_Esterni fyrn finna gala du ethgri, eom elrun deloi dag aernora brakka..._

A single wrong word would ruin it all, but despite the cramp in her leg and the pain in her hand, a feeling of satisfaction washed through her. It was ready. Lifting a hand and closing her eyes, she began to whisper out the page-long spell. From the base of her neck to the hollow of her chest, she felt the warmth and drain of energy, routing through her as the words bound the invisible forces of magic to her bidding. It was especially perilous for her; her stamina had always been poor, making her a relatively poor impromptu caster of spells, but her mastery of the Language was excellent.

What was critical was to watch her breathing, trim her energy levels and keep her tongue untied. No turning back now.

Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead and she shook a little.

_Come on, just a bit more. _Her eyes seemed to betray her, growing fuzzy as her words continued to flow. Her heart seemed to pound slower, as a ringing noise entered her ears. Blackness crept into the margins of her vision.

_"Fields of winter wheat under a sun that never sleeps"_

_"Over old stone bridge and down to the creek, to watch dragons, dragons fly to castle keep"_

_"Quiet child heart watches in wonder"_

_"Before a modern world breaks innocence asunder"_

After what seemed to be an eternity, she opened her eyes. _I was in a trance it seems, but that kicks like a mule, I'm spent. _She wearily raised her head to inspect her handy work.

From the test page there had arisen a miniature tree made of crystal glass, intricate down to the last detail of leaf and twig. Elements of royal blue and bright gold were laced through the branches, while a steady, pulsing glow was revealed within, casting shadows across her desk.

Findol quietly walked past, his back turned to her, but he glanced back, and Mereth could see pride swelling on his face. She shakily got to her feet and gathered her items, before coming to the front of the classroom. Incredibly, she was the first to finish, despite having started spell casting after several of the students.

"I'm done" she said tiredly, but triumphantly, a small smile crossing her face.

The gathered group of Enspirons nodded, before they all simultaneously raised their hands and all in turn, whispered an unheard spell. She felt nothing, save the sound of a faint buzz near the back of her mind and the slight brush of mighty minds that were carefully inspecting hers.

"You have passed the spell of honesty. You are free to leave when you wish" Enspiron Rimsfold said in his croaky voice.

_Free to leave as I wish. _As quiet as she could, she ventured to the classroom door, taking a final glance upwards at the stone dragon that seemed to cast a look upon her with fierce eyes. She was done.

* * *

><p>*COST-<strong>C<strong>onfederate **O**cean **S**tates of **T**eirm**. **(Pronounced as _coast _in this fandom, incidentally enough)

**Please give feedback for improvements or drop a review to just say hello! I will respond if prompted :).**

**Author's note: This chapter was broken in two, and we're still in the heart of world building and introduction. I'm afraid that this chapter is mostly focused on the Original characters here, Findol and Mereth Archent, but such is necessary if the story as planned is to work. Response to them specifically is especially valuable to me. Don't worry, you'll be sick of dragons in a few chapter's time, and you will be seeing _alot _of Angela. Alot. She tends to be that way, always there when you don't want her to be around, never present when a witch would come in handy. But ah well. Now as for the classic characters of Eragon, they're all present in this fiction, but its going to be a while before we meet them (A bit different than the 'Eragon remeets Ayra' traditional fic but I hope it's not to strange for you). Of course, Saphira, Firnen, and Thorn will be returning, more glorious than ever before (they hold a special place in my fondness for the Inheritance series) so don't go away folks, we'll be right back with more.**


	4. Poster Child

_GaBeRock edited this. And it is golden! _

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><p>"You cannot learn what you are made of if you rely on anyone or anything else to help you"<p>

**INEXORABLE TIDINGS **

_Part III: Poster Child_

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><p><strong>"The sands of time cannot be stopped. Years pass whether we will them or not . . . but we can remember. What has been lost may yet live on in memories. That which you will hear is imperfect and fragmented, yet treasure it, for without you it does not exist. We give you now a memory that has been forgotten, hidden in the dreamy haze that lies behind us. Before your grandfathers' fathers were born, and yea, even before their fathers, the Dragon Riders were formed. To protect and guard was their mission, and for thousands of years they succeeded. Their prowess in battle was unmatched, for each had the strength of ten men. They were immortal unless blade or poison took them. For good only were their powers used, and under their tutelage tall cities and towers were built out of the living stone. While they kept peace, the land flourished. It was a golden time. The elves were our allies, the dwarves our friends. Wealth flowed into our cities, and men prospered."<strong>

**"But the coming of the Mad Rider Galbatorix proved to show the weakness in such complacency, for the Riders had long been convicted that through the blessings of magic alone and the responsibility they were entrusted with, there was little need to take heed of such base emotions as lust, greed for power, envy of those having more, and malice for the sake of malice. That was below the Riders, in the underworld of chaos and war, the very entropy that they sought to fight against."**

**"It only takes, however, but a single man, beset by misfortune, to betray such nobility to the depths of destruction. Galbatorix was a manifestation of the universal truth that evil shall never be denied and the man who hides himself in evil's cloak can gather great power indeed.****But neither shall hope ever be denied, and Galbatorix would last a scarce hundred years before the power of hope, the power of the elves, and the power of the many men that he had long dismissed as beneath him, resisted. The Rider War, in all its terribleness that exceeded any previous conflict, set Alagaësia free. It only takes but a single man, Brom Holcombsson, shouldered with the hope of so many, to lead the Varden, and the Dwarves, the Urgals, and the Elves to victory, from the Battle of the Burning Plains to the Fall of Urû'baen."**

**"And what follows, we can only recount. A glorious resurrection of the Riders under Eragon and a blossoming of peace throughout this noble land. But that story of times of old may be recounted once again, with magical effects and a fabulous roster of famous singers throughout the Empire."**

**!COME AND SEE! **

**Datia du Osthato Chetowä**

**Song of the Morning Sage**

**An Opera by the Ilriea Theatrical Company**

**1550 Deynor Boulevard, Imperial Opera House**

**Trimbether 5th - 16th**

**10 Crowns**

**DIRECTED AND WRITTEN BY: _The Great _Foluundur**

**STARRING: San Aida, Don Rauder, Juner, Du Verice**

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><p>"Tempting isn't it?"<p>

Mereth jumped, startled at the deep (seemingly fake) voice besides her. It was the tall hall monitor from earlier, giving her a broad smile. She gave a half smile in return. She stood there for a minute, hoping for the hall monitor to go away, but he remained. They were in the long brick corridor between the congregation hall and the classroom wing of the school, a dimly lit passage except for some skylights in the wooden truss roof that illuminated a series of posters upon the wall.

"To think that such history would become entertainment. Times have changed haven't they?"

"Yes indeed. Shouldn't you be in class miss?"

"I finished an exam, shouldn't you?"

"Well...um, I also finished an exam, but anyhow, some things never change miss, they merely lie dormant. Like this..." he motioned at the next poster on the wall. Mereth frowned.

* * *

><p><strong>THE BRODDRING EMPIRE IS AT RISK <strong>

**YOUR QUEEN CALLS ALL LOYALISTS TO ARMS! **

**REGISTER TODAY! **

* * *

><p>The Poster had a soldier on it, atop a great Iron Horse with a mighty sword in his hand, a strong jawed face staring arrogantly down at her. Behind him were legions of soldiers, marching in step, hoisting their steam-powered crossbows upon their shoulders. A dragon soared in paint behind them. And of course, the flags of the Broddring Empire lined the sides; that familiar symbol, a blue dragon holding in one claw a sword and in the other a hammer, in the center of three horizontal stripes of Red, Green and Blue.<p>

"Such strength, shows that we have not forgotten the sins that Surda has committed against us. The contempt of the crown of Surda for the Queen, the theft of the cities of Aroughs, Feinster and Furnost, and their perpetual attack on our allies on the coast. Their military, their threats of war, their claims on our peoples!" the hall monitor said with a great growl in his throat. "War shall come again, and this time, as our forefathers in the Varden wished, we have the strength to seize our destiny with impunity!"

"And who will die for such a thing? You?" Mereth asked with glaring eyes looking up at the hall monitor. He was handsome doubtlessly, but in a deliberate, conspicuous way that left her wanting to see no more of him. Above all, she detested the nationalism that so many possessed in Ilriea. It was the capital after all, but such blind conviction without comprehension of the consequences just showed a certain degree of stupidity.

"No miss, I do not only think of the Broddring Empire when I enlist. I shall think of lovely lasses like you, my family, the youth at this school, and all of Alagaësia when I march into the maw of danger. All our ancestors, from Farthen Dur to Belatona, now look down upon us and..."

"Ssssshh, quiet down" Mereth pleaded. "I get it! No need to enlist me." She was beginning to edge away from him, casting increasingly wistful glances at the congregation hall where she knew there was food. She didn't mind the attention, actually she positively welcomed it, but not from him and not now. Unfortunately, she realized, it was too late to quietly walk away.

"Is that so?" The hall monitor clasped his hands behind his back and proudly walked to the side before dramatically spinning on his heel "Miss, let me introduce myself, I am Angalon Montsfeld, son of colonel Musker, Imperial Army, 7th Dragoneers Division. It is said that my great relative is Deynor Montsfeld himself"

"How could I never tell?" Mereth said in a purposely dull voice. Angalon, with his blue eyes and blond hair that was carefully combed to the side, broad handlebar mustache and stiff shoulders, was evidently not very interested in subtlety. He didn't even need his black army boots, which could be glimpsed beneath his school robes, or the small army medallion upon his breast, to convey the image of a future soldier. "The question is, what is a Army boy doing at a school for magicians?"

"I can do magic!" Angalon bristled. "Stenr Risa!"

Mereth stifled a laugh as Angalon's eyes strained and his chest swelled. He lifted his hand as though commanding the sea to part. A small pebble on the tiled floor next to them wobbled and then drunkenly lifted from the ground until it came to eye level. "Stenr deyja!"

The stone crumbled into dust as Angalon suddenly snapped his hand into a fist.

"Oh ho, very impressive" Mereth said as earnestly as she possible."So good sir, will you be the one to single-handedly lead the armies of the Queen to victory on the battlefield?"

"Well...er, I propose a more prudent strategy" Angalon blustered, taking a step backwards "After all, it is my destiny to march along side my father and eventually command all of the Queen's armies"

A sly smile crossed Mereth's face. "Well then, why aren't you at the Imperial Academy?"

"**I am too intelligent** for the likes of the Imperial Academy!" Angalon shouted, blushed furiously. "For it is _I _who has taken to study of the old years and the strategy of the kings and Riders of old. Rosylmn is it?"

"It's Mereth" she felt an urge to roll her eyes. Thoroughly put off by his rudeness, she began to turn about when a hand grasped her shoulder. There was something somewhat desperate about his grasp, something with intent. What was it? She was far from beautiful (although not ugly). He had some ulterior motive and she didn't trust it one bit.

She was slightly surprised when Angalon, rather than brush off her name like almost everything else she said to him, stepped back, eyes wide.

"I was looking for magician of any sort, but it is my fortune, _my luck, _that...that I have come across the progeny of the legend, the man himself, Findol Archent!"

Mereth nodded uncomfortably. How did he know? That information was not supposed to be very public. Angalon seemed to be ecstatic.

_"Findol_! Findol the ambassador, Findol the warrior, Findol the general, Findol the sorcerer, Findol the Enspiron! My word, I have come across his daughter. My father told me that she was coming here...I just thought that you would be..."

_Say the word 'taller' and I will slap you so hard that will literally have eyes in the back of your head. Say 'more remarkable looking' and I will personally remove those fancy boots of yours and shove them down your throat. _

But Angalon was smart enough to pause and hold his tongue, before quickly thinking up something better to say "A-a little less adventury looking for you _are _positively fierce looking, i-in a good way. Do you like adventure?"

"Define adventure" Mereth spoke in a thin voice, irritated. "I can think of at least one adventure involving you ending up locked in a closet someplace"

Angalon froze, a goofy grin smeared on his face, as though unsure of how to respond to the jab, before he threw up his head and let out a hearty laugh. "Haha, that's a good one. Findol's famous wit is manifesting itself already. But I'll take that as a yes, here, I have been seeking an adventurer to journey with me to a dangerous and hazardous place. Take my hand! And I shall show you where my interest and passions lay." Before she knew it, Angalon had seized her hand and despite her indigent cry of protest, was being dragged down the halls. She was actually _walking _with him but only because he had a tight grip about her hand and seemed dead set on taking her someplace. Doors and staircases passed, but not another person that would rescue her from him. But she supposed that if he _actually _meant to do her harm she could easily dispatch him.

_He said 'take my hand'. I suppose that wasn't a question. Well this is jolly wonderful __I'm being dragged along by this bumbling idiot to who knows where. _Mereth thought to herself. She knew that she wasn't capable enough a spell caster, but she began to imagine various misfortunes that magic might bestow upon the young man.

_I should give him a squirrels tail, or perhaps cast the curse of high-pitched voice. Yes, that would be splendid. _

There was one part of her that was glad to have a gentlemen devote any sort of time to her. But then again, she preferred someone with something of a mind. Actually, she didn't quite know what she believed in at all sometimes, or what she wanted. What did she know about herself? She enjoyed a studious life, she usually kept to herself, and she enjoyed reading and some minor sketching. She was a magician, a talented one apparently if the words of her instructors over the years was to be trusted, and thanks to her father, was steeped in the lore and history of the Ancient Language. She was a girl that wasn't quite comfortable with the city, nor the culture within the city, being that it was male dominated and constrained, narrow in views and in pride. Not that the countryside near Gil'ead was any better in terms of culture, but she missed those days of her early youth out on the winter wheat fields where her imagination was the only thing to keep her company. The last six years she had been swept up in her studies, year around, and anytime she had to spare had been spent with her father.

"Here we are" Angalon said triumphantly. "The greatest treasure in all the Illriea Hugin Abr Vanyali Breoal."

"The library?" Mereth let out an exasperated sigh "So what is this place actually?"

"I am glad you asked Madame Mereth" Angalon turned and leaned down on his knees to get to eye level with her, seeming to be completely unaware of Mereth's glowering eyes.

_Mereth is my first name, and of course he would make me aware of my shortness. I am going to set his hair on fire. Yes, I don't care whether his father is the king of every dimwitted mutton-head in this country and can make them chase after me, I'm going to do it. _

_I wonder if these are the thoughts of the nascent sadist in me. That would be dreadful I hope not._

_"_This, Mereth, is not a mere library but a repository of the wisdom of Alagaësia in its entirety, a treasure trove of secrets and lore, stories of greatness and stories of truth! But within, ah now there is a sight to behold within this place. Come quick!"

And with that he stood tall and vanished under the archway, into the rows of bookshelves.

_He acts as if I haven't been here six years, which I have. _

Mereth had been at the library extremely often during her time at the school, usually to study, and sometimes to find a quiet place in the school itself. Voice were now echoing in the halls behind her, doors banging open and shoes clattering across marble floors.

_Class change. I would rather stay out of the hallways during all that bustle. Oh bother, I suppose I must go and join Angalon now. _She reluctantly walked under the archway into the place. The library was among the oldest parts of the entire school, housed in a large, barn like place with a impressive hammerbeam roof from which brass dwarven lanterns were hung, casting a warm orange glow on rows of shelves. She knew the way well, weaving through rows and rows of books, reveling in the smell of old paper and musty covers. One might say it was like being in a tomb, but for Mereth, she enjoyed the muffling properties of the library, allowing her to hear her footsteps across the creaky wooden floor. It reminded her of the Dragon's Keep's library, her father had taken her to visit years ago, with the only difference being that the shelves were filled with scrolls and one could palpably feel the power of the spells inscribed within. It even made her recall, just a bit, walking through the alleys that her father would escort her through before she the trolley had been built.

Her father had always been a bulwark of support for her, although not so much so that she had been spoiled. It was true, she was far from perfect, she tended to speak disrespectfully at times. She tended to be rather disorganized and had a rather lousy memory, which was of no end of scolding from Findol, who wrote well enough that it was mistaken for printing and kept his office categorized and inventoried down to the last pen. But the worst was that she always felt a sense of inferiority to her father, who had achieved many great things in his life that she knew were very hard to live up to. She often wondered, whether within herself, there was that same wild spirit of boldness and courage that her father had possessed. Perhaps Angalon did have something that required courage. There was only one way to find out.

She came to the back wall of the library. Several old storage rooms were there, with heavy wooden doors beside one of which Angalon was waiting impatiently.

"Come come now, don't dawdle, here we are" he said "You are about to be exposed to history in ways that few other places can show"

"There's a reason why we're born with brains in our heads, not rocks. Those that do have rocks in their head, I question whether they deserve to be born" Mereth remarked, playing on a quote from Brom.

"A quote from Brom Holcombsson himself, you are a history enthusiast, just as I am myself!" Angalon laughed. Mereth groaned. _Angvard spare me._

Mereth crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. "So, _The Great _Angalon, what do you want to show me?"

What Angalon did next made Mereth lift an eyebrow. He seemed to shrink, casting his eyes downwards and hunching over. In a moment, he had gone from the brave soldier to a skinny student with a preposterous mustache.

"I have a admission to make" he spoke, all the deep bravado gone from his voice, leaving nothing but a nasally voice behind. "I am not good with magics, actually I am quite bad at it. With mathamagics I am alright, but many magicians have told me mathamagics doesn't count as real magic."

"Well, it's entirely reliant on your understanding." Mereth said, slightly less sarcastically than before now that Angalon had somehow 'deflated'. "Math can be very magical indeed, but once you understand it, it probably makes perfect sense. Magic is the same way; a combination of words and focus to take advantage of the natural magic that surrounds all of us. So don't speak in that manner, its nothing to really be ashamed about. Not everyone is born to do magic, and not all are born to do math"

"That's not what I am ashamed about." Angalon said softly.

"Well then, out with it" Mereth said impatiently.

"I...I am afraid of the dark"

"You're twenty years of age!" Mereth said incredulously.

"And...I need you to break the rules" Angalon nearly whispered

"What rules?" Mereth nearly shouted.

"That rule" Angalon pointed at the door.

**BASEMENT **

**ARTIFACTS AND RECORDS STORAGE**

**TRAP SPELLS ARE IN EFFECT. NO UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS**

**"**Alright, let me understand clearly here. You want me to unlock the door, undo the trap spells, sneak you into the school records storage so you can, I don't know, falsify your class results? Or should I say, you want _me _to falsify your class results, because I highly doubt that you know how." Mereth said dryly.

Angalon nodded slowly.

"ie wilae neiat exkiut fortha ono" Mereth said carefully. Angalon was confused.

"What was that?"

"An oath in the Ancient Language, that says I will not cheat for you."

"So? What difference does it make?"

"You're ignorant. It means that whatever I just said is the absolute truth and nothing but the truth and I am now compelled by magic to refuse to cheat for you"

Angalon looked heartbroken.

"But what I will do, since you prompted me, is to open this door up and let you down there"

Angalon looked ready to cry tears of joy.

"Now, I do need you to do one thing. I need you to light a werelight for me."

"I am unable!"

"If you can make a pebble rise, you can make enough light for me to write" she said in a no-nonsense voice, producing a small notebook and a pencil from her robe.

"Write? Write what?"

"A counter-spell to the traps down there, here..." she stretched out a hand towards the basement and closed her eyes, expanding her mind. "Hmmm, yes, undoubtedly some traps below, but old ones. Shouldn't be to hard to handle. We have to get closer"

"But the were light?"

"bjart garjzla, you should know that one at least"

Angalon furrowed his brow and then shut his eyes, lifting his hand dramatically. "B-jart g-arjzla...what do you know I can do it! Does it come in colors?"

"Come on you know the colors of the Ancient Language"

"bloh, lovi, deloi...its changing colors"

"Yes, and its also facing the wrong way. Come on you"

"Oh this is marvelous! It's hardly any energy at all either."

"Make it brighter!" she snapped. He winced as the light increased in brightness, but it was soon sufficient enough that the lock was illuminated sufficiently. It was an old lock, with a simple skeleton key front and old, paint encrusted screws welding into the door. There was no handle.

"ma'mor un sharalvi du gata" Mereth spoke. Angalon watched, entranced as there was a slight squeak and then a rusty sounding click the lock. The heavy door quivered, and then began to move on its hinges seemingly by its own accord.

"Absolutely marvelous, just remarkable!"

"Shut up! Do you want anyone to hear?" Mereth hissed. Angalon quickly shut his lips and squeezed them. Mereth let out a slight snort of derision "Finally you look as foolish as you actually are."

But Angalon merely made muffled mirthful sounds, but he looked down into the yawning portal that had been opened up before then and then stopped laughing, a degree of fear entering his eyes.

A smooth stone passage lead steeply downwards, with steep stone steps that were worn smooth from decades of use. It smelled of dust and rotted wood, and there was a noticeable draft of cold air that came from below. Angalon began to back away but Mereth, with a wicked grin on her face, yanked his robe and the two of them plunged into the dark, the door closing behind them.

"Barzul!What did you do that for!" Angalon gasped. He pushed on the door. "Locked! From both sides. This is terrible, what are we to do! I have to get home..."

"Oh be quiet you baby. Act your age, you're just a year younger than me" Mereth said casually "We can always leave, but should we?" she said, purposely flippant.

"I want to get out!" he wailed.

"You asked for it, come on Angalon let's go. The only way out is down after all"

"Only because you're saying it!" Angalon blustered "ma'mora dune sha..."

Mereth clamped a hand over Angalon's mouth. "Quiet you! You would mess up the spell since I don't think you would pronounce it correctly, and I need the werelight! Now grab a hold of yourself and get on with it. What would your father think? What kind of soldier are you anyway? What would the queen think?"

"The Queen? For the Queen, **For the Queen**" Angalon, suddenly inspired, stood up and ran a hand through his hair. "I shall...shall not let the powers of darkness overcome me. Noble wizard, lead me on!"

"Shut up"

The two of them finally came to the bottom step. Mereth sat down and closed her eyes. She put out a hand, extending it with the palm facing outwards, frowning.

"The door was too easy to open, especially for the school's record chamber, and I see why, the spells here are very old" she said after a minute. "Not very complex, but fairly dangerous. It'll take me several minutes before I can disarm them"

"What sort of spells?" Angalon asked warily, although he was still trying to put on a brave face.

"Oh, the usual, dust suffocation, alerting the guards upstairs, shadow animation of the hostile sort...and...some sort of creature summoning. I'm not sure on the last one, it's a passive spell, very hard to undo those, but all the former ones I can undo pretty simply. The summoning one I'll have to let slide"

"Creature summoning?" Angalon thought for a minute "Well, never fear, for...I have a crosskruaac" he produced a metal-crossbow looking device that had a large spike protruding from a barrel and a rotating cylinder at the back connected to a horizontal circular sweep.

"Where did you get that? They're very expensive" Mereth squinted her eyes.

Angalon beamed. "800 stone per square cubins pressure exerted by stored steam. This device can discharge 6 small bolts in just 5 thirtysixhundredths hour. I'll down any beast that attacks us"

Somehow, Mereth wasn't convinced. Regardless, she began to write down the counter spell, mumbling the words to herself as Angalon stood watch.

"Mereth, I'm getting tired from this light"

"The light? It's scarcely any energy at all"

"Well, for me it is" Angalon spoke sheepishly. "But I should be able to maintain it"

"Well keep it illuminated, I can't make a mistake" Mereth snapped, returning to her work. Angalon looked about. The werelight didn't illuminate much, but it it did illuminate a cobweb covered wood ceiling (floor crossbeams, with the occasional unnerving creak above them), a wooden floor, and beyond that, pure darkness, black as a cave, from which the cold draft continued to brush across his face.

He shivered a bit and lifted the werelight higher. He looked back, up the steps. Only a sliver of light under the wooden door could be seen, looking almost menacing. A shadow fell across the sliver, and suddenly Angalon grew frightened.

"Mereth" he whispered "Hurry, I think there might be someone coming down"

But Mereth was absorbed in her work. Several pages of writing had already been filled. Anaglon couldn't help but be impressed, Mereth was reputed to be one of the best spell weavers in the school, and apparently that wasn't at all an idle claim. He had seen many magicians who would take an hour to do what she had done in five minutes, and without a reference book of any sort.

Still, he would be in serious trouble if whatever person was standing on the other side of the door above them was an Enspiron, and decided to venture down.

He tried to suppress the thought. The darkness was disconcerting as it was along with the faint scratching noises he could hear further down into the basement. The shadow moved away from the door.

"Mereth, please hurry" he hissed.

"You can't rush magic, unless you're a Dragon Rider or an Elf of some sort, which neither of us are. A Dragon Rider would have blasted his way through, although some of the older ones might have spat out a counter spell already"

"Can't you?"

"I'm eighteen years old! I've only studied the Ancient Language for eight years and I did so illegally. My father began teaching me when I was ten, which is already exceptionally early. Moreover, I'm definitely human and so are you. If you can find an elf right now who has been casting spells since it was barely out of the womb, please. But if you can't, shush!"

"Alright" Angalon grumbled. "But I can't keep this light burning forever. Have you ever wanted to be a Dragon Rider?"

"Haven't you? Everyone does, but I'm pretty sure I'm too short for it and you're too thick-witted. Besides, its basically a life sentence, and a _long _life sentence. I would earnestly hope that whatever young child gets selected is truly willing because it's not a simple _here have a dragon and immortal life and enjoy it _sort of thing. I definitely _would not _want to be a Dragon Rider thank you very much. Not to mention that it runs in families. Some of the greatest Riders ever born were all related, and I know that Findol nor any of his parents were Riders at all"

"Findol was greater than many Riders were" Angalon said. "He was a Imperial Ambassador for fifty years. He fought in the Dwarven Civil War as part of the expeditionary force and became a strategist."

"I know, you don't think I don't know about my own father? That's how he lost his hand, from a Shrrg ridden by a enemy in the Boer Mountains during one of the battles." Mereth said, annoyed.

"He also invented the inverted-flank and illusion maneuver, and wove the associated spell. I read about it in the books about the war. After the war he advised General Tooul and modernized the Imperial Army, but that was much later, and then he retired as a Enspiron here"

"Wait...what?" Mereth put down her notebook and looked up at Angalon.

"Yes, your father holds the rank of Adjust-Lieutenant to the late General Tooul, didn't you know that?"

"Well...no."

"That's what the Imperial Army honored him for, how can you not know?"

Mereth took a breath and looked down at the floor "I was raised in the country outside of Gil'ead. I remember not seeing much of my father early on, not until I moved here when I was ten"

"Who raised you?"

"Mother. Her name was Lɒënga. She was from the COST. A short woman like I have become. My father and her never got along well, and he was busy so often back then. She died from plague back home, I saw it happen."

"That sounds most unfortunate."

"And what about you?"

"Well I have nothing like your tale. My father has been married thrice, I have ten step-siblings and I live in the Old City."

"Your father must be very wealthy."

"He's ahead of the night garrison at the Palace. It pays handsomely I hear, I just sometimes wonder whether he doesn't get some of that from bribes...I know my mother better. I stay with her most of the time, out in Alderney." Angalon spoke thoughtfully "But anyway that's another story."

"I'm done."

"Good, I'm beginning to tire out here." Anaglon said, looking wearily at the werelight.

"That's weak."

"As you say Mereth."

"We are not friends! Now quiet, don't distract me!"

Mereth lifted her hands and began to carefully read out the spell she had written down. Anaglon watched in interest, waiting for something to happen. For a couple minutes she spoke, almost chanting as she did, so fast that Angalon strained to divine the separate words that she was reciting.

There was a faint, almost undetectable shift in the air. Angalon waited for a bright flash of some sort, only to watch Mereth get to her feet and then light a werelight herself. He squinted from the brightness.

"Is that your werelight? It's more like a ball of lightning."

"Yes that's what a werelight is" Mereth said, but there was a element of exhaustion in her voice and in the flicking illumination, Anaglon noticed that Mereth had grown pale, with dark circles about her eyes.

"You alright? You look...well worse than you did ten minutes ago"

"Magic takes energy if you haven't noticed" she reached up and with her hand, extinguished his werelight. "Now stay close, we're going to be in and out"

"I would prefer to have my own light" Angalon said worriedly. "I can't see walls or any object in particular" they began to walk forwards into the darkness slowly.

"Relax, its just a basement. There's probably nothing but shelves of old scrolls and files. There's nothing to be afrai..." but the words got stuck into her throat. Angalon gave a yelp of surprise and jerked backwards, stumbling and then falling on his rear end heavily.

In the werelight, an enormous grey dragon stared back at them, mouth agape showing rows of sharp teeth, while a Rider with a sword stood before it, the blade extended almost to the point of touching Mereth's nose. She recognized the face.

"Galbatorix..." Mereth said softly.

* * *

><p><strong>I will be illustrating this story soon! And GaBeRock did an outstanding, absolutely excellent job editing this. Please review, for the sake of both of us! Part IV is currently under heavy development, so stay posted! <strong>


	5. Strange Fairths

_"Sometimes the best map will not guide you_  
><em>You can't see what's round the bend<em>  
><em>Sometimes the road leads through dark places<em>  
><em>Sometimes the darkness is your friend"<em>

**INEXORABLE TIDINGS**

* * *

><p><em>Part IV: Strange Fairths<em>

* * *

><p>"Is that...that's..."<p>

"It's Galbatorix alright. But just a statue." It was a huge statue of Shruikan, standing nearly 10 cathors tall by 20 cathors wide, with a much more diminutive yet no less menacing Galbatorix standing in front, sculpted in marble, Naegling unsheathed and extended towards them.

Mereth read an inscription on the floor at the statues' feet.

**GALBATORIX**

**GREATEST OF ALL DRAGON RIDERS**

**SAVIOR OF THE ORDER**

**MIGHTY RULER OF THE BRODDRING EMPIRE**

**GALLERY OF THE GREAT RIDERS**

**Urû'baen Hugin Abr Vanyali Breoal**

**7775 AC**

"It's nearly four hundred and fifty years old." Angalon said with a awed voice. "Back when Ilriea was still named Urû'baen and this school was under the authority of the mad king himself. 25 years before the Rider War."

"Looks like he put some money into this too. This statue was crafted by magic. No artisan could make such a artwork with such fine detail." Mereth remarked. She wove the werelight to the sides. The statues themselves were actually several cathors away, down a series of broad steps. Above the statues was a high arch supported by fluted columns. To the sides were shelves and shelves of dusty files and scrolls, some of them rotting in the darkness. Far to the left, she saw another set of stairs, but it lead only to a brick wall.

"They must have bricked up the main entrance and then crafted a new one into the library when they converted this into a records depository. I'm not too surprised, I've never seen a statue of Galbatorix that remains from before the Rider War and I can see why: he's not an ugly man."

"I always imagined him with fangs and a dark robe." Angalon chuckled "Just jesting, I've seen him in enough textbooks to recognize him at first sight"

Mereth descended the steps and ducked under the exceedingly long sword, standing directly in front of Galbatorix, scrutinizing the tall figure. He was tall and lithe, with a sharp face and a well groomed beard. An elegant crown with regal looking garb was atop his combed hair, all recreated perfectly in stone.

"He does look kingly. Many a woman would be lured by his appearance."

Angalon warily looked at the statue of Galbatorix as they entered under the stone arch. The eyes of the king seemed to follow him, the entire statue seeming lifelike enough to break free of its stone prison and plunge Naegling through his heart. There was evil in his expression, a haughty smirk that promised pain on his lips, something all too slick in his hair, and the promise of overwhelming strength from his stance. Shruikan was not to scale; in real life, Angalon had read, he was almost too large to be put in any cavern anywhere. The largest cave in the world would have struggled to hold him, not only due to his size, but also due to his temperament; viciousness so terrible that his emergence only meant mass-slaughter and destruction. Thankfully, it was merely the dragon's effigy in stone, but even so, Angalon swore he saw the scales rattling and the long, sinewy neck slowly pivoting to look at him with a condemning stare from those reptilian eyes before the maw opened and a inferno was cast out to consume him into nothing.

He shuddered. "What a mean looking creature, wild and vicious. In person, he must have been the stuff of nightmares."

"Well then, look around" Mereth said in an astonished voice. "There's more where that came from."

Angalon froze. Out of the darkness rose not merely Galbatorix, but several more statues of dragons and riders, all in varying poses of intimidation. While not nearly as tall and huge as the statue at the entrance, they were just as intimidating. Around them, were tall stacks of books, scrolls, old records, and other objects long forgotten by the school. Tall pillars supported a barrel vault high above them, and the floor was a dirt covered white marble surface that was cracked and worn after centuries of inattention.

"the Forsworn, if my old man could see this..." Angalon walked forward, as though hypnotized by the smirk of Glaerun.

"3 elven men of darkness terrible to behold, a elven woman banished for the horrors yet untold, 8 human men with hearts of stone, 1 terrible dragoness and her lady rider who's sins cannot be atoned" Mereth recited. "And here they were honored, long after they had all perished at the hands of Brom."

"Glaerun, Formora, Enduriel, Kialandi, Morzan, Beodrun, Isinduel, Terrondra, Michondel, Telser, Kruther, Debuel, Moassasi...I think they're all here. Do you suppose Galbatorix built this place to remember them? He certainly didn't seem to mind them disappearing one by one. If he had he would have guarded them better"

"Well, you're the history enthusiast, you tell me" Mereth said.

Angalon grinned. "Finally my days of studying old history books is finally paying off, because what most of the populace will never comprehend is just how _terrible _Galbatorix really was."

"What do you mean, he's considered the evilest man to ever have lived."

"No, I mean what a bad king he was, and I mean bad as in incompetent. An interpretation of Galbatorix by the legendary Jeod Longshanks puts the mad king in a different light, that he brought about his own downfall, but not only that, he never really acted to be king in the first place. Mentally, Jeod considers that the king lost a great deal of foresight during the years of the Rider's downfall and that by the time he became king, a great deal of his mental powers were gone. It explains his general idleness through the hundred years of his reign, during which he spent years at his palace, sometimes in the same room, never emerging except when he was needed to prevent his empire from collapsing on itself outright. Apparently, he micromanaged every letter and request without any assistance, which was an impossible task that left most of the work of a king undone, and while he did indeed commit unspeakable acts of evil, most of the empire suffered not from his acts of malice, but more from negligence. Commerce nearly collapsed, farming suffered through the years, droughts, famine and plague were unchecked, and the Imperial Army during those years was so poorly organized and so ill lead that it's a wonder that the Varden didn't invade fifty years earlier."

"One can only propose theory as to what the king was _actually _doing. Many claim that he spent his days in mental and emotional breakdown, grieving the loss of everything good in his life. Others say that he would close out the world and just wallow in self pity and the more carnal pleasures of life. Who knows. What we do know is that most of the decisions in the empire were drafted and executed by Galbatorix's hopelessly dysfunctional court and nobles who did what they pleased."

Mereth spoke up. "So, he was a failure of a evil tyrant?"

"Isn't that what evil seeks to do? To allow chaos to reign?"

"But he was exceedingly powerful." Mereth countered

"Undeniably so, and many of those years were indeed spent experimenting in dark magic, conversing with the shade Duza and...apparently increasing his power through unnatural means...although the Elvish historians have been very vague on that matter. Some sort of secret that the Elves seem keen on keeping. But had he been truly as terrible as some legends claim, I don't see why he didn't guard his loyal Forsworn more carefully, or committed wider acts of terrible magic, or ever come out and glimpsed the sun more often. He might have enslaved entire cities, crushed the Varden and conquered Surda in a year, conquered whatever else lies beyond the Hadarac desert, and tamed the Spine with all his power. He could have had an Empire that would have lasted a millennium rather than a century. Looking back, the way he executed things, its a wonder that the Imperial Army resisted the Varden for long at all. The Battle of the Burning Plains, according to the records from the Empire at that time, was nearly impossible organize. The Imperial Army was in shambles prior to it. Despite the mass of soldiers conscripted and the material gathered, the army was poorly lead, if at all, allowing a Varden army just a fraction of its size that had considerable strategic disadvantage completely destroy entire legions of the Imperial Army while the generals kept considerable masses of men in reserve, idle, I mean, my father could ha..."

"Angalon..." Mereth said with a warning in her voice "I enjoy your extensive knowledge, but we're down here for a reason. Why don't you try and find your grades."

"Oh, right. So, where to start?"

"I don't know, go look! Light a werelight and start browsing. There must be some system of organization down here."

"Oh right."

Angalon cheerfully lit a werelight and ambled away into the dark, disappearing into the seemingly endless piles of records. His previous trepidation of the dark was apparently gone. "Look at this, there's probably more than grades down here, _probably lots of old artifacts and paintings of the school as it was for centuries. Maybe we can find some embarrassing information on Enspiron Lought. That would be positively ripping...Let's see...OH look, MAPS!" _His voice trailed off, echoing incoherently somewhere else in the room.

Mereth wasn't as cheerful. She grimly examined the Forsworn dragons and their riders about them.

_That was another age and time. Before the steam engine, before the train, before the cities were soot-choked and overrun with slums. I wonder what they would say if they saw the world today, with Steam Ravens and Iron Horses, Express trains from Ilriea to Carvahall, Airships and Analytical Engines, horseless steam carriages and all the advances made in science, mathamagics, magic itself, health and natural studies._

_Would they be aghast? Would they condemn such developments? I shouldn't ask these evil statues, but what of the Riders that came before them? What of the Elves?_

She came before the statue of Formora. She stared up at the effigy, thoughts circulating through her head. She recalled the words of Findol concerning the Elves.

_"Elves are proud folk, very wise and very powerful, but crippled by their hubris" _Findol said. _"They are a race apart from humans, and if you ever see one, don't think that just because you walk on two legs and have similarities to them in appearance that the you have anything **else **in common. Elves are not to be trusted even though they speak in the absolute truth of the Ancient Language. And here is the thing; they are as susceptible to the evil of the world as any other race, they are just a little less hasty about it. They act and decide slowly, for what is time to them but something they merely take account of like the passage of water down an endless river."_

_"Daddy, are you saying Elves are evil? I think they're beautiful."_

_"Of course not, I am just conveying a bit of wisdom from someone who has dealt with them before. There are many that see elves as aliens and fear them. On the other extreme, there are many that would die to be one. But I am telling you to see them as just as imperfect and subject to error as much humans, or dwarves, or urgals, or any other race that inhabits this world, they just are subject to such vices and chaos in a Elvish, very slow way."_

_"Are the Elves hostile to us?" _Mereth had asked. She had been scarcely 13 at the time.

_"No, not yet. We are beneath them. But as the humans multiply and our prowess in all things logical grows, and while the Dwarves continue to invent and devise new ways of industry, business and war in ways that the Elves refuse to consider, the dangers of envy and worry will begin to afflict that noble race. I don't see anything good coming from the Elves being insular beyond reason."_

_"They are our friends are they not?"_

_"For now, but they worship themselves first. As I see it, it is hubris, but not all elves are that way, and many are as noble as any man, or more so. Of course, good men often have no voice, and those that prey on fear and pride always are more inclined to seize power. But how would I know the internal comings and goings of the Queendom of the elves? Ironically, I suspect that they are much in the dark about those matters as I am."_ Findol laughed _"But Queen Ayra is a good Queen, and as long as she sits on the throne, the Elves shall be truly our allies and they shall truly be wise and just as a race."_

_"Have you ever seen the Queen?"_ Mereth asked with wide eyes.

_"Ah yes, and it was like seeing a goddess of beauty, war, wisdom, fertility, but also sadness at the same time. I was very young when I saw her, younger than you, back when the streets of Ilriea were still wide and the air was clear. She landed with Firnen upon Drottning Avenue. It is a once in a lifetime event, and you will be fortunate to witness it anytime soon."_

_"Did you meet her?"_

Findol let out a deep-throat laugh. _"Your chances of meeting her would be the same as getting a meeting with Angvard, Guntera or Helzvog for the dwarves, or Rahna for the Urgals. If you ever get to meet her, write me a letter, and if I'm not alive, at least let her know who your father was."_

Mereth didn't deny it, Elves were beautiful. Formora stood tall and thin, long wavy hair tied up into a low pony tail that gracefully draped down her back, a geometrically proportionate face, and piercing eyes. Her dragon seemed to match her fairness, long and graceful, with elegant wings that were slightly pulled back as though creating shade for its rider. But Mereth couldn't help but cringe, imagining those willowy arms and slender fingers doing horrific acts of evil with the elves' unnatural strength.

This was the elf that had conspired with Kialandi to kill more Riders than any of the other Forsworn, along with Morzan and of course, Galbatorix himself. This was the elf that, according to legend, had torn men, elves, and dwarves alike limb to limb, often times with her bare hands. With that fact in mind, Mereth thought Formora's cold gaze to be extraordinarily cruel looking.

"Such beauty, such blessings, and all devoted to... sadistic indulgence" Mereth spoke to the statue. She rubbed her own nose, unhappy with its appearance on her face. "I suppose blessings can be a curse indeed."

_"I FOUND IT!"_

"Great Angalon, now I think we should go!"

_"No, come over here, you absolutely must see this!"_

"Oh bother." Mereth sighed as she looked about for the dim glow of Angalon's werelight. "I'm coming!"

She began to wind her way through the maze like shelves about her, keeping her sights warily on the large stone dragons that seemed to watch her every movement, the flickering of her werelight seeming to give them life, emerging and disappearing back into the darkness of the room soundlessly as her light passed them by. There was something wild about those great beasts, beautiful and dangerous at the same time.

_The natural forces of Alagaësia gave rise to these mighty creatures, and yet we have tamed them, or perhaps they tamed us. _She looked at the Forsworn riders that stood before them. Men, tall and mighty, destroyed by such emotions of lust and greed. _Or maybe we are the wild ones, and the dragons are the ones holding at bay the dangers of the heart_

_"_There you are Mereth, look here" Angalon appeared, eyes bright, about a corner. He lead her down a narrow row of shelves, his werelight bouncing up and down as he excitedly began shuffling through a pile of objects.

"I just saw it, where is it?!"

"Do you suppose they might discover that someone has been down here? You shouldn't disturb that."

"No, but look!" he produced a cloth covered, dusty object that appeared as a wooden board of some sort from where she was standing. "Behold Mereth..." he bowed, before whisking off the cloth. "Brom Holcombsson, founder of the Varden."

It was a fairth, a very old one. She lifted her werelight higher to take a closer glance at a face that all citizens of the Empire knew very well.

"the hero of the Broddring Empire and the overthrower of Galbatorix!" Angalon said exaltedly. "This is an _original _fairth of him, this would be almost beyond value if sold at an art auction. Look at the exquisiteness of the fairth, its not merely something done from the imagination, but it must have been committed _in person!_"

"Then who is that sitting next to him?" Mereth said, puzzled. The fairth depicted Brom, the man that every textbook from Ceruvon to Carvahall was celebrated as the great savior of Alagaësia itself, not only for his strength and deeds, but also for his humility, and ultimate sacrifice when slaying Galbatorix. He was sitting on a log next to a pit-fire and a shaggy boy sitting opposite of him. Brom had a wooden stick in his hand, a mischievous grin on his weathered and bearded face, dark eyes seeming to possess a content but energetic energy within them. The boy, whom seemed actually younger than she, on the other side of the fire was grinning too, but a more embarrassed one, for he was heavily bruised and his leg seemed to be hurt, a broken stick in his hand. They had been sparing, and he was on the losing side of things.

Behind them, most astonishingly, was a young and small blue dragon, partially veiled by darkness, with an angular head peering over the two men's shoulder inquisitively. In the background she could just make out two horses grazing. The horses and the dragon were of similar size, showing that the dragon was very young indeed.

Never had such a story been told _to her _anyway about Brom training anyone.

She blew on the fairth, a cloud of dust rising away. She knew Brom, but then again everyone did, so that didn't help. The dragon was a pretty one, but it was hard to tell dragons apart sometimes save for their color, and it was rare that dragons so young were ever let to roam freely through Alagaësia, and even less rare that they were to be depicted, so that didn't help either.

The boy was a rather provincial lad, with a rugged frame and sinewy, wiry muscles that spoke of spending years outdoors and in the fields. He had a faint tan that was characteristic of someone from the coast, but it wasn't that dark sun kissed tan that was appropriate for someone from Surda, or Teirm. Perhaps the Spine? He had the looks of a Spine-wanderer, something about him channeling a mysterious vibe so typical of those folk. Above all, he had a plain, innocent face that looked as though he was burdened by some great responsibility that he had not asked for; crease lines were already beginning to form on his forehead.

A small name at the bottom of the picture denoted its maker.

**_Brom Holcombsson._**

**_Carrun 7th, 8000 AC. Near Therinsford._**

"Let me see that, please" Mereth asked. She turned the fairth over, noting some messy handwriting on the back next to an outline that mimicked the picture on the front.

**_SnowFire, Cadoc._**

**_Saphira_**

**_Brom Holcombsson, Eragon Bromsson_**

"Twas made by Brom himself" Angalon said with a breathless voice "I'll never work a day more in my life because I'm going to sell this and make a fortune!"

_"_Then explain this!" Mereth picked up the cloth covering the fairth, pointing out the words.

**Du Gata Vrangr**

**To Be Destroyed**

"WHAT!?" Angalon's exultation turned to horror. "How can that be?"

"There's more here" Mereth began looking through the pile that Angalon had been sifting through. "These are all fairths. Probably all of them centuries old, all of them to be destroyed by order of the Du Gata Vrangr."

She uncovered them, one by one, mystified. One fairth showed a silver elf sitting calmly next to a human...the same boy on the previous fairth; Eragon Bromsson, but he was almost unrecognizable in comparison to the previous fairth. He was stronger, yet more withered looking, more grave, yet confident at the same time. Behind them, she saw the same blue dragon, Saphira, next to a large and magnificent golden dragon that prodded her memory. Saphira was significantly larger this time, having become a strong and remarkably striking dragon with sharp, angular features.

"Angalon...the golden dragon, who is that?"

"I think...Glaedr, and that Oromis. The only Riders to survive Galbatorix's wrath, that is of course, until the Rider war, where they were killed at the battle of Gil'ead by the Mad King...but this is completely wrong. Elf Riders do not train humans except in the application of the magical arts and swordsplay, and here that human boy is sitting next to him like Oromis is his master. Now that's odd."

"Eragon does have the tapered ears, although there's something paining him, perhaps his back. See the way he's hunching?" she pointed out "and there's a forrest behind them...Du Weldervarden! That can't be!"

"No wonder these are to be destroyed, they must have been faked!" Angalon exclaimed. "The elves would have been livid to see such depictions of trespass into their sacred forest."

"I don't know, these are too realistic to have been faked, and that boy...it doesn't seem as though it is coincidental that he would be in multiple fairths at a time."

The next fairth showed a picture that she was even more perplexing; a crowd of humans and dwarves, crowding about Eragon, one of them lifting up a baby to which it appeared that Eragon was blessing. The label on that one read:

**Eragon blessing Elva.** **Farthen Dûr.**

"Oh my word...Madame Elva?"

"Elva? What does that current head of the Du Gata Vrangr have to do with anything?" Angalon said "Eragon looks younger again, and that's...look! A flag of Varden!"

He pointed to a blurry flag that waved in the background "What is this? A Rider, a human Rider among the Varden? Perhaps a spy of some sort, a great trickery by Galbatorix..."

"Take a look at this one Angalon, this one is the strangest one yet."

She gave him a fairth that depicted a battle scene of sorts. "I do recognize this one" Angalon said with a puzzled look on his face "but there's something off about it."

Two warriors were depicted locked in a brutal sword fight on a far off hill, and below them was a battle of vast magnitude and destruction, enormous catapults in the distance hurtling projectiles through the air. Two dragons, one crimson red, the other a brilliant blue, were resting near the two men fighting, watching with intense focus.

Angalon brushed his finger over the fairth, before speaking in a thoughtful but somewhat confused voice. "That's the battle of the Burning Plains, but the fight on the hill, I cannot recognize. The blue dragon, that's the dragon from the picture with Brom; Saphira, all grown up now, and I must say that she is a positively gorgeous dragon, however war weary. It's rather rather strange that she's wearing _dwarven _dragon armor. But I've never heard of such a dragon during the Rider War, and the red dragon I cannot fathom at all where he came from. I can't see the two warriors clearly, but one looks like he is wearing Imperial Armor...and once again I am completely in the dark as to the identity either of them."

He turned the fairth around.

**_Climax of the Battle of the Burning Plains; the Duel Between Murtagh Kingkiller and Eragon Shadeslayer._**

**_Background: Saphira on the right. Thorn to the Left, resting after aerial combat._**

**_Foreground: 7th Heavy Assault Division of the Varden routing the Charge of the 122nd Imperial Light Brigade of King Galbatorix._**

**_Half a league, half a league,_**  
><strong><em>Half a league onward,<em>**  
><strong><em>All in the valley of Death<em>**  
><strong><em>Marched the Mad King's slaves.<em>**  
><strong><em>"Forward, the Light Brigade!<em>**  
><strong><em>"Charge for the dragons!" he said:<em>**  
><strong><em>Into the valley of Death<em>**  
><strong><em>Marched the Mad King's slaves.<em>**

**_"Forward, the Light Brigade!"_**  
><strong><em>Was there a man dismay'd?<em>**  
><strong><em>Not tho' the soldier knew<em>**  
><strong><em>Someone had blunder'd:<em>**  
><strong><em>Theirs not to make reply,<em>**  
><strong><em>Theirs not to reason why,<em>**  
><strong><em>Theirs but to do and die:<em>**

**_While above them, the Riders of Red and Blue Fought unto they withdrew_**

**_Making history that day_**

**_But History is written by what the victor shall say_**

**_Into the valley of Death_**

**_Marched the mad king's slaves._**

**_Poem was inspired by Lord Tennyson_**

"Murtagh? Thorn? Never heard of them. Eragon Shadeslayer? The Elf Rider during the war?"

"Eragon Shadeslayer died with Queen Islanzadi at the battle of Urû'baen." Mereth spoke matter-of factually. "There's no doubt about it, he must have been present at the Burning Plains. But M...Martaw? Is that how it's spelled?"

"Murtagh" Angalon readout. "It's a rather odd name."

Mereth was looking about herself, taking note of the high shelves which hemmed them in, tall and imposing. She noted the mass of materials with the repeated note **To be destroyed **on most everything about them. She saw something that caught her eye.

"Angalon, are...are those your papers?" She lifted a stack of fairly fresh documents off the shelf.

"Yes, I found them, so?" Angalon was engrossed in the fairths. "Look here, the funeral of King of dwarves Hrothgar...Queen Ayra! She _was _present there, and...Eragon Shadeslayer. I don't see any other elves, isn't that odd?"

"Angalon, these are horrible grades! And reports of magical deficiencies and...habitual skipping of classes?"

"Oh drat!" Angalon shot up and snatched the papers from her hands. "I didn't mean for you to see that!"

"Angalon, you said you finished an exam" Mereth gave him a suspicious look. "Did you lie to me?"

"No! Me, having been raised in the honorable society of the Army, lie? Ho ho, of course not!"

"You used me! I can't believe it! I hardly find that _honorable _at all!"

"But that's not the only reason!" Angalon squeaked. "I've always wanted to come down here at any rate. I see your father come down here all the time"

Mereth furrowed her brow. "Findol?"

"I spend a good deal of time reading in the historical section of the library, and weekly, I see him come past, wooden arm and all, unlock this door, and then stay down here for a while."

"Well of course, all the student's grades are kept down here!"

"He's carries files, marked expressly Du Gata Vrangr. I figured it would be worth a peek, but please don't tell on me! I just thought you would be willing and...I like you"

She raised an angry hand, ready to spit out a rebuke at the cowering boy, both something staid her words; a memory from long ago.

* * *

><p><em>"Mom?"<em>

_L__ɒ__ë__nga looked up from her knitting. "What is it now Mereth?"_

_"How come the girls down the lane never ask me to join them when they go to Gil'ead?"_

_"Well, I suppose that they consider you short and not very pretty."_

_Mereth, already in a depressed mood for a nine year old child, burst out into tears._

_"What? I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true!" her mother spoke sharply. "Would you want me to lie to you? You can't expect everyone to be nice to you, especially your peers."_

_Mereth wasn't consoled. Irked, her mother stood up from the couch, put aside her knitting, and headed for the kitchen. She emerged with a wooden spoon in her hand that she waved menacingly._

_"You know what this is Mereth?"_

_Mereth stopped crying and stifled her breathing, bearing her eyes downwards. "They're mean. I think you're mean too."_

_Her mother took a heavy breath and set down the wooden spoon. "Mereth, come here"_

_Anxiously, Mereth slowly approached. L__ɒ__ë__nga took her hand and lead her back to the couch, sitting down. Mereth sat down beside her._

_"Child, the world is a mean place, and the people that live in it the meanest of the lot, but the sooner that you learn this, the sooner you will become kind and wise. I do not care as much about how I look, nor about how you look so much as I am concerned about the way you act and the choices you make. Strength and virtue comes from recognition of what is mean and what is not, and how both to endure it and to avoid it. Do you understand? I will not raise you to be so sensitive to what others think about what you wear or say that you cannot think for yourself. Now come, let's recite some magic words."_

* * *

><p>Mereth flicked Anaglon's head.<p>

"Blockhead! I'm not that put off, but you should at least attempt to apply yourself, which will benefit you a great deal more than traipsing about in the historical section or getting lost in basements! You're at one of the best schools of magic in all of Alagaësia and you're wasting it! Who's paying for your education, the Army?"

"Please, don't jump to conclusions" Angalon begged. "I'm a new student here after all, and...I just never really took to the craft. Would you be able to help me?"

"Probably not, considering that I'll be moving back to Gil'ead after I graduate next week...but I do have a bit of time, I might be willing to review some basics with you."

Anaglon shot up eagerly. "Wonderful. I think that we're going to be great friends."

"Whatever. Now put back your grades where you found them and let's head back upstairs. Someone might reckon that we've been missing for a while, and I'm pretty sure that we're in a **very **restricted section of the basement. We could be oblivated for this! What we've found might be a very important discovery of sorts!"

"Important? Do you suppose that these Fairths" he motioned to the pile of them "might be down here because they were an alternative, false account of history? If that's the case, we shouldn't even bother. I honestly think that they're all a sham, and Angalon Montsfeld believes in the facts! Not some myth or folklore that's fit to be written into some overpriced book by a pompous author that didn't have a proper review by his editor!"

"And what if it wasn't?" Mereth asked.

Angalon pondered the question for a moment, before looking back with a raised eyebrow and a slow, dramatic expression. "It would be a revolutionary revelation unequaled. More importantly, the question is **_why? _**But! But but but I don't think that it's out role, as humble students, to take any action"

"And who will?" Mereth felt some indignation rising in her heart. "The truth should be sacred."

"At what cost?"

It was at that moment the she heard a sound a few shelves over to the left that made her heart leap into her throat; something akin to viscous tar running down a wet gutter. Angalon turned around, his face paling.

"W-what is that?" Mereth asked in a small voice. The two of them stood there, listening as the sound came closer.

"I...think, I've heard of such a thing. A nasty creature, they use tame ones to train military wizards in close-quarters spell-casting. Their magically resistant, to a point, enough that most lesser wizards are no match for them, like yourself. No threat to a Dragon Rider though, and dragons can easily incinerate them. It must be summoned by that summoning spell that you couldn't disable Mereth!"

"I'm too fatigued to fight anything right now anyway" Mereth squeaked. "And we don't have a living dragon on our side now do we? Do suppose we can retur..."

But her words froze in her throat and her heart seemed to stop, for in the shadows at the end of the row of shelf row, illuminated dimly, she saw a slow moving puddle of yellow slime.

"Mustard Jelly! Scram!" Angalon said as he produced his crosskruaac, fired off a bolt, before he ran off in the opposite direction. Mereth was already ahead of him. Behind them they heard a burping sound that sounded akin to a pained moan, before the noise of tar moving slowly down the gutter turned into a loud rustling, hissing sound.

"SHIT! I'M SHORT I CAN'T RUN THAT FAST!" Mereth wailed as Angalon sprinted past her. Angalon stopped and grabbed Mereth, hoisting her onto his back.

"Ooomph you're heavy!"

"I only weigh seven stone! Just run!" She looked back and felt her blood run cold. From every corner and cranny, she could see more Mustard Jellies emerging, pursing at a surprisingly quick speed.

_I should have known! _Mereth lifted her hand higher, illuminating the path in front of them. Angalon swerved, dashing between rows and rows of the mazelike shelves. The stone dragons reappeared, their riders staring off, looking away from the two adolescents that were frantically running below.

"It would be nice if they came to life about now!" Angalon shouted. "Where's the exit?!"

"I think that way...or that way" Mereth yelled desperately. "I don't know, we didn't leave a ball of yarn to guide us back."

"Make your werelight brighter!"

"And set the place on fire? Just keep going! There!"

She pointed at one row of shelves that her werelight had illuminated, revealing a long, arrow straight corridor that disappeared into the darkness. Angalon gave a huff of relief, before running down it.

The materials around them grew older, books turning to scrolls, boxes of papers turning into heavy wooden chests, stacked high. Suits of armor then appeared, along side old swords, hammers, bows and arrows, horse saddles. Angalon looked side to side as the sights passed by.

"Fancy...that...there...must...be...over a thousand years...of stuff down here" he said between gasps of air. Mereth didn't say anything, her eyes fixated on the darkness ahead.

A wall of stone appeared, and a single door, at the far end of the corridor.

"That's not...the exit!" Angalon came to a halt. "Disembark!" he practically dropped Mereth, before collapsing to the floor, winded. "I need...a breather! I think...we have some...time."

"Not very long" Mereth narrowed her eyes. The sound of slime was now far off, but quickly approaching, echoing against the barrel vault above. She turned to the door, examining it. It was of iron with a rounded top, painted black and although it didn't have a handle it didn't appear very thick.

"On the bright side, there's a door at all. On the other hand..." she ran her hand along the metal door frame, noting that the door itself was warm. Pressing her ear to the material, she could hear a metallic, humming sound "Barzul! There must be a boiler room on the other side."

"So!? Shout a secret word and open er' up! I don't care if Madame Elva herself is sitting on the other side with a paddle, I prefer corporal punishment over being assimilated into a, Angvard knows how old, nasty blob!" Angalon said in a jittery voice.

"It's a fire door, which means that the door itself was enchanted when they made it to be hermetically and thermally sealed to prevent fire spreading from the boiler room into this place. Unfortunately that doubles as a fairly sophisticated locking spell, I'll need at least a few minutes with it."

"Why would they put a door from the boiler room to a cavern full of highly flammable materials anyway? As a fire exit?"

"No, it was probably converted to a boiler room and the door replaced. Previously it might have been internal store room for the larger vault down here. They just never considered bricking up the door, fortunately for us."

"Well HURRY! We got maybe a one-hundred-twentieth of an hour before we're going to have a very sticky problem on our hands."

_He's making jokes? Now?! I don't have a clue on how to get this thing open without writing the spell down!_ "Angalon, use your crosskruaac, it should pierce the metal and shoot away the lock"

"And lose your head!? You don't know how thin that metal is! The bolt might ricochet and there's no guarantee that it will shoot away the lock anyway."

But Mereth didn't hear him, for her eyes were locked on the quickly approaching monster in the darkness. The Jellies had coagulated together and formed a single, seething, shapeless mass that completely blocked the corridor entirely, the slime bubbling and morphing towards them with a sickening sound.

* * *

><p><strong>All Edited by GaBeRock. Thee has made this story come to life! And thee has vastly improved chapter pacing and subject emphasis. I'm not the best writer nor shall I claim to be, but with thee by my side, I might be able to claim that I have written something that's readable. :D Also, all dialog now is ended with punctuation. ;) <strong>**By the way, First Illustration is up for _Many Years Later _on deviantArt. Please go see it! It's rather crude, but a picture tells a thousand words after all.**

**Reviews of course, are appreciated. Or PM's are fine.**


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